


If I Was Still in Hell, Would the Birds Be Singing?

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [14]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Chocolate Syrup, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki pops another strawberry into his mouth with his bad hand.  It hurts to grip things, even lightly.  He can't help but wonder if he's <i>always</i> going to be <i>recovering</i> from <i>something</i> every long, tedious week for the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Pilgrims?  Yes.  Progress?  That’s Dubious.</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1518860/chapters/3211247">Bridges</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Important realizations can really take some time to percolate.
> 
> Especially when they are really, really important.

Loki sits quietly, chasing the sweet-sour taste of a fresh strawberry around the inside of his mouth with his tongue and watching Thor pretend to sleep. From the jagged, stuttering rise and fall of his brother's chest, it's blatantly obvious whatever Thor’s actually doing is far closer to crying than napping.

Which is sad, yes, but Loki has a lot to process just now. Far too much to process, at least safely. He's not sure he can add _sad and sorry_ to the stack without the entire thing coming tumbling down. And considering they're out in public - he looks around them, at the gently sloping parkland bowl encircling the pond; at the families, the little water-wing-bedecked children splashing happily in the water, the other couples enjoying picnics on a gorgeous sunny day - a full-blown Loki Tantrum Special is probably (okay, definitely) not the greatest idea.

Loki pops another strawberry into his mouth with his bad hand. It hurts to grip things, even lightly, but he'd had the clinic nurse at day treatment call the orthopedist's office; she – and Loki, by proxy – had been told that sort of pain was completely normal. Expected. The doctor’s office assured them it was still okay - good, even, in terms of recovery speed (and Loki can't help but wonder if he's _always_ going to be _recovering_ from _something_ , every long, tedious week, for the rest of his life) - to use the hand.

So, he uses it.

And it hurts. He winces as he tries to twist the useless casted thing and get at his sticky, juice-stained fingers. No dice. He has to duck his head underneath and lick them clean them that way. His neck is not a fan.

Maybe by the time he gets the cast _off_ , he’ll have finally caught on to how his fucking wrist doesn’t rotate in it (which is, of course, the whole point in wearing it to start with). Maybe.

~

_He didn't know I was alive._

Thor hadn't looked at all like he'd been lying. Not when he’d talked about the whole topic in joint counseling, even despite the animosity; not a few minutes ago, either, when Loki'd asked him point-blank. No, both times ( _each_ time, truthfully; his brother had tried trotting the subject back out - repeatedly and unsuccessfully - between counseling and now) Thor had looked honest. Utterly sincere. Sad. Horrified.

Not, by contrast, the least bit devious. Not dishonest. Not even secretive.

~

Knowing all of this does cast things in a new light... a bright one at that; one under which any number of Thor's seemingly bizarre past actions and comments, accumulated over time into a puzzling collection of _huh, weird, WTF_ , do make a lot more sense.

Loki is pretty much okay thinking about that part. Thor making sense is good, at least on the surface of it all. It's his _own_ feelings, his own overturned and scattered worldview, he can't get his head around.

_He thought I was dead. He mourned me and went on without me as best he could. And then he found me and everything shattered._

It's too big. It's too much to feel.

He can't do it.

Loki closes his eyes as the pretty scenery around him wobbles and spins.

~

For a few minutes he really thinks he's going to lose his shit, public place and children playing notwithstanding. Loki rocks flat onto his ass, shifting very slowly so as not to alarm his brother, and digs the nails of his left hand _hard_ into his own thigh. _Focus_ , he reminds himself over and over, but he can't. The pain of his fingernails stabbing through the thin fabric of his pants should help - it's sharp and bright, and it's a comforting reminder of countless past dubiously advisable coping attempts.

All of which should help ground him.

It doesn't.

~

Loki doesn't want to tell Thor he needs to leave. He loves it here, normally. To top it all off it's not like this is going to be better back at the apartment, and he does have (barely) enough presence of mind to recognize that a brutal fight at this juncture could be irrevocably damaging. And even if it isn’t, quite, he doesn't think he wants anything along those lines to happen.

He hasn't got what it takes to climb up from the bottom of that particular well. Not again. Not today.

Maybe not ever.

~

Finally, when nothing else works, he thinks back to the night in the padded room… the night he spent with Greg. _Just breathe,_ Greg had told him, over and over with endless patience until Loki had finally caught on and listened. _Don't try to solve it all at once. In fact_ , his nurse had added in a soft, soothing voice as Loki'd rocked and howled, _don't try solving any of it. Not right now. Just breathe. Here, I'll count for you. In... one... two... three... four. Okay, okay, that's all you can do right now_ , Greg had acknowledged when Loki couldn't quite stop his ridiculous gasping for air. _We'll work on it. We have all night, if we need it._

Loki forces himself to let go of his leg. He flexes his cramped fingers and then rubs his thigh gently. It’s going to bruise. _I'm not there anymore,_ he reminds himself. _I can do this. I can._ If not for himself, for Greg. For Greg and Anna and Leah and Sif and- and Thor.

He starts off with cycles of four; four counts in, four counts out. Once that becomes easy and comfortable he concentrates on extending his counts, first on exhaling and then on inhaling. At eight in, sixteen out, Loki finally finds himself at a point where he can start doing the exercise correctly; where he can focus not just on the counting itself but also on the physical sensations: Of the air moving into and out of his nose and mouth, trachea and lungs. Of his ribs and diaphragm moving. Of his heart beating, at a reasonable rate that’s no longer _too fast to count_.

~

He works his way through the breathing exercise, over and over. It takes a long, long time before he feels like he can safely open his eyes.

Loki yawns silently, blinking against the light. When he can tolerate the brightness – i.e. see – reasonably well again he stretches. He hurts everywhere, sure, because all that tension takes its toll… but he no longer feels so _broken_.

Thor is still flopped on his back, close to the end of the picnic blanket. His right arm is draped over his face; his left hand rests on his t-shirt, fingers curving slightly to cup the muscles overlying his now-smoothly-rising-and-falling ribcage.

He looks warm and inviting.

_It’s okay to turn to the people who care about me for help_ , Loki reminds himself. That whole concept is always hard for him. So hard. _They want to help me anyway._

He’s not sure he believes the last part, but several therapists – good ones, ones he trusts – have assured him it’s so.

He lies down slowly and quietly, taking care not to smack his cast on anything. Anyone. When Thor doesn’t move Loki scoots closer, as close as he can, until his cheek rests against his brother’s clavicle and his casted hand touches Thor’s free one. He laces his fingers into his brother’s as best he can and nuzzles into the mess of golden hair, nudging Thor’s big, heavy arm out of his way.

"I'm glad you came for me," Loki tells his brother softly, lips barely touching Thor's ear

Thor shivers and shifts to wrap his arm over Loki’s shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and Loki nods against his neck. "For a lot of things. Not that, of course, but a lot of things."

“Me too,” Loki agrees. “Me too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once they get something (vaguely... very vaguely) approaching BDSM right.

Loki’s not quite sure how they got themselves into this particular game, actually, but it’s a good one and he’s certainly not complaining. Well, he _is_ complaining, especially when Thor dribbles cold stripes of chocolate syrup – directly out of the squeeze bottle, which came equally directly out of the refrigerator not ten minutes ago – over some of his own warmest and most sensitive spots, but it’s not the kind of complaining either of them minds. It’s all part of the game, really.

And he’s not complaining much. He’s mostly just panting and gasping and writhing around happily.

~

The blindfold really _makes_ the whole thing. Normally Thor isn’t particularly amenable to letting him wear it; since that night in their old kitchen, the one where- well, you know, his brother has been hesitant to give it another go. As in, Thor finds more excuses than ducks have feathers. Too, Loki hasn’t really pushed. With the move and everything, they’ve had an awful lot going on. It’s scarcely the sort of thing worth _starting up_ over.

_Speaking of excuses,_ Loki thinks, smiling around the tail end of a moan, his brother normally claims to wants to gaze into Loki’s beautiful eyes (oh yes, gag!) when the two of them are messing around. Except there usually isn’t all that much looking to begin with. Loki has to figure the whole thing is more about making sure nothing is going badly wrong. Which is sweetly considerate, sure, but it’s still annoying.

~

Today, though, is a good day. While the blindfold is not quite tight enough to block the light completely, Loki can’t see any of what’s going on – not when the chocolate is about to fall, or where, and not when or how Thor occasionally stops to smear some of it around with his fingers. Or, even better, with his warm, wet tongue. Everything is a bit of a surprise.

_This_ is the sort of surprise Loki likes. The only sort, really.

“Ah,” he yips, doing a little involuntary _duck-and-cover_ ing when cold chocolate splatters into his armpit. His cast inadvertently collides, rather ungently, with the side of his brother’s head. Again. “Sorry!”

“Do you mind,” Thor asks him straight out of nowhere, “if I secure your hands?”

Does he _mind??_ Um, no? Without thinking it all the way through Loki nods enthusiastically; it’s not until a few seconds later, when his brother stops and sits patiently waiting, that he realizes he’s answered the wrong question. Or the question wrong. Or something. “Go ahead,” he pants instead.

Thor’s warm, sticky hand touches his cheek. “Are you sure,” he asks, shifting the blindfold so it’s only covering one eye. “I don’t want to hurt your wrist.”

Loki blinks a few times and then grins reassuringly. “It’s fine,” he huffs out between loud breaths. “Just use- the cast- and not my- fingers. It’ll be fine,” he repeats when Thor looks (a little blurrily) skeptical. “I promise.”

~

“What the fuck is taking you so long,” he grumbles, what has to be close to five minutes later, when his brother is still clunking and rattling in the sex toys box. It’s not like he’d sent Thor to the store for something. Seriously. “You didn’t tell me you had to find a cow,” he complains, “and then butcher it and tan its hide.”

His brother laughs, like the whole thing is a lot funnier than Loki’d meant it to be. The box scuffs across the floor as Thor slides it back under the bed, still laughing. “Shh,” he shushes. The bed rocks a little as he moves back up to Loki’s head and plants wet lips mid-forehead. “I can’t help it that I’m not quite as creative in these- these sports as you are,” he reminds. “Now hold nice and still for me and we can get back down to business.”

It’s not easy, not after five long minutes of nothing but trickling chocolate and goosebumps and dirty, dirty thoughts, but Loki does the best he can.

~

The ankle cuffs are an added bonus. The last thing he’d expected when he’d gotten out of bed this morning was that he’d be back in it – spread-eagled and covered with chocolate, of all things – before the end of the same day.

Loki pulls experimentally at his restraints, first the arms and then the legs. _Mm, perfect._ He squirms a little, just for show. “Nice,” he tells Thor, smiling again.

“Good, I’m glad you approve,” Thor teases, and Loki can hear his brother is smiling as well. “Now, let’s see,” Thor stalls. Where were we?”

~

“Jesus fuck,” Loki murmurs under his breath as Thor drags tongue and then teeth along his clavicle. If his brother really intends to lick him clean from head to toe at this dog-slow pace, he’s going to go insane. _More_ insane.

He shifts and twists, moving as much as he can tied like this, in a vain effort to make something useful happen; to get a nipple between Thor’s teeth, or his dick against his brother’s hip. Anything.

After what feels like ten eternities it finally works. Loki – starving thanks to the lack of real sensation by now - can’t help but yelp sharply as a hot tongue _finally_ swipes across his left nipple.

Thor pauses. “You like that, do you,” he asks. Just as Loki’s brain registers another break and starts shrieking _no no no don’t stop no_ he licks again, and then gives the same nipple a sharp nip.

It hurts _perfectly_. “Oh fuck,” Loki moans, jerking against his restraints. “More,” he pleads, voice wrecked, and then _oh sweet baby jesus, don’t stop now_ … because doesn’t it fucking figure that his brother is holding up again.

How hard is it to follow simple instructions, after all?

_Finally_ Thor resumes his maddening licking, the flat of his tongue warm and slippery. “More of this,” he asks cheerfully, “or of this?” On the second _this_ , without any warning, he closes his teeth again. Sharply, too; this time it’s a real bite.

The sharp pain startles Loki, in a good way, and he can’t help himself; he screams and thrashes hard against the cuffs.

_Shit_.

The mattress shifts as Thor kneels up and away. Loki’s eyes fill, tears wetting the fabric covering them. He counts to 20, trying to get himself back under control. If he fucks this up, just when it was going so well, he will- he will _die_.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Oh god. More of both,” he begs, trying to put every desperate need he’s feeling into his voice. “ _Lots_ more of both,” he adds, in case it’s not perfectly clear. “Please.”

And then Loki says a quick prayer to whatever isn’t out there listening.

~

It actually works. “Well, then,” Thor tells him, about the time he’s totally lost in his own head imploring - _oh please oh please oh please_ \- his brother to continue, “I think you need more chocolate.”

The chocolate in question is _still cold_. “Oh shit,” Loki complains, laughing a little crazily. “That stuff is _freezing._ ”

After just a moment Thor laughs too, and something tightly wound inside Loki comes undone.

“Isn’t that the point,” his brother asks him. The bed rocks again and a hot tongue licks straight up his sternum. “Plus, I like what it does for the scenery,” Thor offers, giving one nipple a quick sucking; Loki jumps a little, then moans. “And you taste nice; very, very nice,” his brother mouths against his ribs.

Thor’s stubble scrapes across Loki’s chest, back and forth, as he lavishes attention first on one nipple and then the other, again and again.

“Clamps,” Loki pants after a few rounds. If ever there was a time to go for it, it’s now.

“What?” Thor asks, breathless and perhaps a bit confused.

“Clamps, in the box. Nipple clamps,” Loki offers, hurrying to explain that it’s “because that way you can be everywhere at once.”

Thor _laughs_ , which isn’t quite the reception Loki expected. “Wait,” his brother admonishes. “I thought I was supposed to be the one in charge here?”

Thor is right, but Loki needs this. He’s not going to let a formality his brother doesn’t even really _understand_ get in his way. “I can’t help it that you’re so _bad_ at it,” he teases.

“ _Bad_ ,” Thor shoots back, imitating his whiny tone. “We could stop, you know.” And doesn’t he fucking push away again, still laughing.

“Oh, fuck, no,” Loki backpedals hastily. “You’re fine. What was I thinking?” But then he laughs; he can’t let the subject go. “Still, the clamps,” he prompts, and there’s a little edge in his voice he didn’t really intend.

“Brat,” Thor calls him. It’s not unjustified, so Loki lets it go. That, and the bed dips and lurches as his brother starts digging around in the box again. “Since I’m _so bad at this,_ ” Thor continues, a little muffled, “will I even recognize _nipple clamps_ when I see them?”

Loki snorts. “Oh, please. Don’t even.”

~

Thor chooses the clover clamps; Loki can tell right away from the feel of them. Oh can he. That surprises him, too (again, in a good way). In fact, it even makes up for how fucking long it took his brother to finish screwing around and actually put the things on.

Oh god, they hurt. So bad. _So good._ He can barely feel the cold of the chocolate over the concentrated intensity of the pain.

And when Thor finally hooks the chain and pulls it up up up, Loki can’t do anything but arch his back and pull against the restraints and scream. This time, his brother takes it better.

Which is fortunate, because Loki’s pretty much beyond explaining now.

~

“If I undo your feet so I can move your legs,” Thor says quietly, startling Loki out of a daze who knows how many minutes of tugging and licking and biting later, “will you promise not to kick me?”

Right now he would promise _anything_. He thinks he does, actually.

~

Loki expects his brother to fuck him then, when his knees are tugged up, one after the other.

Thor doesn’t.

Instead he goes on with the licking and sucking, this time on Loki’s sack and the insides of both thighs. That, and he fists Loki’s dick with a messy, chocolate-slopped hand, hard enough that Loki sees stars.

~

When the chocolate, still shockingly cold by comparison to skin, runs thickly into Loki’s crack he’s pretty sure he breaks his promise. His brother doesn’t seem to mind. At least, he doesn’t _think_ Thor minds; it’s all kind of running together and Loki _justwantstocome._

~

He waits until Thor has thrown on some sweats and lugged the laundry downstairs to remove the clamps; no one, least of all his nervous-about-this-stuff brother, needs to watch him rolling around in the shower stall – he’s too sticky and gross to do it anywhere else – clutching his chest and screaming.

By the time his brother comes in to join him, Loki is rinsing away lazily like nothing ever happened.

~

Thor hasn’t gotten off; Loki is feeling brave. It’s probably not the greatest combo. Still, he can’t resist snaking a finger into his brother’s soapy crack while they’re kissing. “Hey,” Thor yells into his mouth, jumping like he’s been stabbed.

Loki laughs, but he does stop. He doesn’t want to end this on a bad note, not when it’s gone so well. “What, it’s fine for me but not for you,” he asks nicely, both hands up in Thor’s hair to avoid any confusion. 

His brother looks everywhere but at him. “It’s just- I don’t-,” Thor stammers.

_Oh._

“Ohhhh. Really?” Loki ducks to catch his brother’s eye and smiles. “You’ve never tried it? Not even once?”

Thor nuzzles into his shoulder. “No,” he says into Loki’s neck.

“Consider yourself warned, then, brother,” Loki teases lightly. “Someday I’m going to make sure you do. You do trust me, right,” he asks, still teasing. Kind of.

“I try to,” Thor says. Loki, for his part, _tries_ not to let that sting.

“Good,” he tells his brother, shaking it off for now. He lets his hands slide down Thor’s sides as he takes a knee. “Then having my mouth here,” he says, grabbing his brother’s hips and leaning in to kiss the very very tip of Thor’s dick, “won’t scare you,”

Point of fact: Judging by the rough moan, his brother isn’t the slightest bit afraid.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Loki, things just keep changing.

“Come in,” she offers, which he does. He can’t read her face at all.

"You wanted to see me?" Loki's regular case manager isn't in, but the woman sitting behind the big desk in front of him - one of the directors, the person who oversees all of the therapy staff – had sent word to have him stop by on his way to lunch. He's only met her a few times. Seen her, really; he’s not sure he’s spoken more than five words to her previously.

She quickly stands when he comes all the way in, even though he's _nobody_. It all feels uncomfortably like being sent to the principal’s office, especially given her power suit. "This is about the fight yesterday, isn't it," he prompts when she isn't quite quick enough to reply. "It really won't happen again. I meant it when I told-..." He trails off when she holds up a hand to stop him.

"No, it isn't, she says, serious but not angry. "Although I suppose the two things could be related." He winces. "It's not anything bad, Loki," she assures him, smiling now and soft-mannered. "I just need your input on something related to your care."

_Huh_.

He's not at all sure what to make of _that_ \- it might very well be something he's never been offered before; he hasn’t got a roadmap for it - so he opts for simply nodding and saying nothing.

"Here, please, have a seat," she offers, gesturing to one of the padded leather chairs around her conference table. Loki does, trying his best to focus on some of what he's recently learned about appropriate body language. _Don't curl up in an angry, defensive ball until it's warranted_ he reminds himself. _Hands loosely in your lap_ \- he shakes his left one out as subtly as he can, then cups it with the fingers of his casted right hand - _and breathe_.

_In. Out._

The director comes around from behind her desk and joins him, less formal and more friendly but not uncomfortably close. It's a striking reminder that she certainly didn't get here, here with her significant role in this fancy, exclusive place, by being only adequate at her job.

"Dr. Wallace and I spoke earlier, after your session, and I wanted to get your feedback," she tells him. "How do you think your individual work is going?"

Honestly, he hasn't been feeling too good about it. Dr. Wallace is very nice, and she does seem to genuinely want to help him, but every time he meets with her he finds himself missing Anna. And Leah. The two of them just aren't on the same wavelength somehow. "Truthfully," he asks, feeling a little anxious. Okay, that’s not even close to accurate… on top of how he felt coming here at all, he’s feeling a _lot_ anxious now.

"Yes, please," she says, which is exactly what he expected but somehow further unnerves him anyway.

Loki gulps in a big breath. "I like Dr. Wallace," he starts, "but I don't feel like I'm connecting with her somehow." He makes himself stop there; he's answered the question. There isn’t any need to go on.

"Thank you," the director says, nodding, and Loki relaxes a little. "That's the sense she's been getting as well. Normally we might be inclined to write it off, at least for now - as I'm sure you're all too well aware," she tells him, angling her head to the side slightly, "it's not an unusual complication in therapy relationships involving clients with BPD - but I'm told you," she continues as he nods his agreement, "managed to forge strong, trusting bonds with your most recent two counselors." She studies him closely, head still cocked. "Is that a fair thing to say?"

It is. He nods. When she waits expectantly, he clears his throat. "Yes. I warmed up to Anna as soon as I was at all functional. It took me a little longer with Leah, but I think a lot of that was just that she _wasn't Anna_ ," he admits. "At that point a big part of me still wanted to go back to the residential facility. But, yes, they were both easy to work with. For me, I mean," he qualifies. He’s not trying to level blame here.

She nods. "If you're amenable to trying," she suggests, "I'd like to have you give working with Dr. Riley a go instead. When you first joined us her caseload was simply too heavy," she explains, "but we've made some changes there. And now that we've gotten to know you better, I think - we all think," she amends, " - she's really the best fit for you. What’s your opinion?"

Loki mulls it over before replying, like he's been told he should. Dr. Riley assists occasionally in his DBT classes. She refers to herself as a woman and other people use _her_ and _she_ around her, but she's comfortably androgynous and a bit brusque. She has none of Dr. Wallace's mothering, nurturing manner... which, for him, is probably better. Loki screws up his face a little but quickly stops; his swollen eye, the result of yesterday's little altercation in the men's room, hurts. "I think I can work with Dr. Riley," he says at last, feeling quite a bit of anxiety returning. Starting over makes him nervous. It all feels overwhelming.

"Good," the director says. "I'm glad. Dr. Riley has a lot of her homework done already, as part of our collective research into what approach might be best for you. She's able to start with you tomorrow," she offers, "unless you'd like more time."

He thinks again. Tomorrow is awfully soon, and he _isn't_ sure he's ready, but continuing on now with Lame Duck Wallace seems both awkward and pointless. "Okay," he concedes. It sticks in his throat; he swallows hard.

"I know this isn't easy," she tells him, and suddenly he needs to get the fuck out of here before he cries. "Thank you for being flexible."

He nods; thankfully, she takes the hint. "I'll let you get back to your lunch," she says as they both get to their feet and start moving. "And Loki?"

Loki twists to look back at her, biting the inside of his cheek hard. "Hm?"

She smiles, but her forehead is wrinkled. "I don't think you need to go into DBT this afternoon, not while you're adjusting to such a big change. Go spend your time in the art studio. I'll let everyone know," she adds when he hesitates.

It's not something he even realized he needed but, from the huge wave of relief that surges through him and leaves his eyes brimming, she's dead on. "Thanks," he croaks, and then he flees.

~

Loki is afraid to go straight to the art studio. That, and he's expected to keep his food intake steady; if he skips a meal it will set off secret alarms of the sort he'd really rather not trigger. He tries hard to compose himself on his way to his storage cubby - for a book, so people will know better than to join him (and he can safely ignore them if they do) - and is almost back to okay when he finally slips into the lunchroom.

He balances out his beet salad with a gigantic, gooey brownie.

Afterwards he feels a little better. Not good, but better. Mostly.

~

"Hey," one of the rec therapists exclaims, grinning broadly as Loki rounds the corner into the studio with his shoulders hovering up around his ears. "We're twins." Tyr is a big guy, big like Thor, who plays rugby despite a prosthetic hand. They're normally about as twinnish as Tom and Jerry. Today, though, he's sporting a black eye that rivals Loki's own. "You should see the other guy," Tyr adds, laughing.

Loki knows he can do this. "Same here," he shoots back, forcing himself to laugh as well. "I have kneecaps of iron."

Tyr snorts, pumping his metal hand in the air. "And I have a fist of steel. See? Twins." He touches Loki's shoulder lightly, with his flesh-and-blood hand. "Go slap some clay around. If you need anything, holler."

"I will," Loki assures him, and then heads off towards the back of the room.

~

At first it only feels _right_ to make things and then _crush_ them; it's a good hour before Loki settles down and does anything productive.

If you can call it that.

All he manages to make is small figurine; a stylized mini-person that reminds him of- of Thor. He carefully _doesn’t_ crush it. The thing may survive firing, or it may not; sometimes clay creations with small appendages around bigger center sections don’t fare so well.

Whatever happens, he’s keeping it a secret. From Thor, from everyone.

Now.

Always.


End file.
